


Does Her Love Make Your Head Spin?

by the_sky_is_forever



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: (but no being a jerk about it), Agender Character, Agender Grantaire, Jealousy, Multi, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 03:34:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4771901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_sky_is_forever/pseuds/the_sky_is_forever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire finally lets Courfeyrac set them up with a blind date to get over Enjolras. It doesn't work out, but Courfeyrac has more friends. Eventually, Grantaire finds someone who they really do like - could even love. They're finally getting over him.<br/>Enjolras, on the other hand, is desperately in love with Grantaire, but chooses not to say anything because Grantaire is happy with their new girlfriend. So, even if it makes Enjolras feel sick with jealousy, he lets it happen. It's the right thing to do.<br/>It almost works.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Does Her Love Make Your Head Spin?

**Author's Note:**

> title is a bastardised line from keaton henson's "you don't know how lucky you are" i adore that song and pretty much every other keaton song so if you dont already know him please listen to him he's amazing

“Grantaire, _please_ ,” Courfeyrac begs, looking and sounding a little desperate.

Grantaire looks at their friend, feeling somewhat irritated. “Courf, for the last time: _no_.”

Courfeyrac sighs, seeming very hard done to. “You’ll like her, I promise. And if you don’t, I’ve got plenty of other single friends!” He pouts a little.

Grantaire closes their eyes and tries to find the inner strength not to cold-bloodedly murder Courfeyrac. _He’s just trying to help_ , Grantaire reminds themself for the hundredth time since Courfeyrac started hounding on them to go on a date and get laid.

Holding up his phone, Courfeyrac displays a picture of an admittedly very pretty, twenty-something woman.

“What’s her name?” Grantaire relents, with a sigh.

Courfeyrac’s whole face lights up, and Grantaire immediately regrets everything.

It’s not that Grantaire doesn’t like going on dates. It’s more an issue of… well. Being in love with an unobtainable and ridiculously incredible person already. That’s not exactly a recipe for a good date.

But maybe Courfeyrac’s right. When has Enjolras ever shown even the slightest interest in them? Maybe it’s time to move on. Find someone else. Get over Enjolras.

-

“Do you know if Grantaire’s alright?” Enjolras asks at the end of the next meeting. “I wanted to talk to them about something.”

“Oh, yeah, they’re fine,” Courfeyrac says, with a grin that makes him look like he knows more than he’s telling. “What did you want to talk to them about?”

Enjolras purposefully looks down at the leaflets that he’s packing away so Courfeyrac doesn’t see him blush. “Oh, nothing. It’s nothing. Anyway, they don’t normally miss a meeting; I thought maybe something was wrong.”

“Nah,” Courfeyrac says, his grin growing. “They’re on a date with my friend Adrienne.”

Enjolras freezes part way through packing his bag. He stands up straight. “What? Why?”

“Why?” Courfeyrac echoes, with a half-laugh. “Because… that’s what people do? They go on dates? And… date?”

It feels like someone has their hands around Enjolras’ throat, squeezing too tightly and choking him. “Oh,” he says, and it comes out sounding odd to his ears – like it’s someone else’s voice.

Courfeyrac’s frowning at him, and Enjolras quickly goes back to packing his things away.

“Does that bother you?” Courfeyrac asks.

“What? No. Of course not. Why would it?” Enjolras asks, quickly. “I’ve gotta go. I told Combeferre I’d come over after the meeting,” he says, using the first excuse to come to mind.

Courfeyrac just looks at him for a moment, before softly saying, “I live with Ferre. Are you alright, Enj?”

Enjolras blinks, shouldering his bag. “Right, yeah, I knew that. I guess you can check up on him. Um. Make sure he gets plenty of rest and all that. Um. Yeah.” He moves to walk past Courfeyrac, needing to get _out_ of there, but Courfeyrac grabs his arm.

“Enjolras,” he says, lowly. “You’re reacting really badly about this. I’m only going to ask one more time, if you don’t want to talk about it, then that’s fine, but I care about you and you seem quite upset. Is there a particular reason why you’re so upset about Grantaire going on a date?”

Enjolras feels himself blush and tugs his arm free. He smiles brightly. Forcedly. “I’m not upset. Why would I be? Good for them. Now, I’m sorry, but I really should be going.”

He leaves quickly, then, feeling sick to his stomach, because, as it turns out, he’s been wrong. About _everything_.

Part way down the street, he starts to run. He runs until his lungs burn and his muscles ache. He runs till he can’t breathe for a normal reason. He runs.

Finally making it back to his flat, he climbs the stairs and lets himself in. He kicks his shoes off and undoes his tie, trying not to think about the way his hands are shaking, and collapses onto his sofa, burying his face in his arms.

It’s just that… he thought- he thought that Grantaire-

He thought Grantaire felt the same way _he_ did. Does.

But if Grantaire’s going on dates… apparently he was wrong.

Enjolras’ face heats up, thinking about the way he was _going_ to ask Grantaire out tonight, and how close he came to making a fool of himself. His stomach feels twisted and his hands won’t stop shaking.

He feels sick.

His phone buzzes from his pocket and he pulls it out to see Combeferre’s name flashing on the screen.

 **Ferre:** Hey, are you alright? Courf said you seemed upset.

Enjolras sighs and quickly taps out a reply.

 **Me:** I’m fine!

A moment later his phone vibrates again.

 **Ferre:** Do you want me to come over?

Enjolras groans and flops back against the back of the sofa.

 **Me:** No. I said I’m fine! I’m fine. Okay. Getting by. Strolling along. I don’t know how I can make this clearer!

 **Ferre:** Maybe by not being sarcastic and using exclamation marks. That’s what you do when you’re upset and defensive.

Enjolras glares at the screen.

 **Me:**!!!! back off !!!!

He shuts his phone off after that, ignoring the guilt that surges through him at being so mean to Combeferre when he was only trying to help.

He heads to bed, thinking that at least unconsciousness will take away the sting of – well. It’s not even rejection. It’s like pre-rejection.

-

The date – to be as polite as possible – is a complete disaster.

Adrienne is, admittedly, beautiful. She’s funny, clearly smart, and is also nothing like Enjolras. (Not that Enjolras isn’t beautiful, funny, and smart – it’s just… different. It’s different.) Despite this, Grantaire knows ten minutes in that this isn’t going to work, even though they dearly wish it would. They enjoy the date, on the whole, but as an objective idea – disaster.

Grantaire walks her home afterwards, and she gives them a gentle kiss on the cheek, but there’s nothing between them and they both know it.

The date ends with awkward smiles and, “This was nice.” Neither of them mentions doing it again.

Grantaire sends off a text to Courfeyrac as they walk to the train station.

 **Me:** didn’t work out – who else you got?

As they’re sitting down in a window seat and sticking their earphones in, Courfeyrac replies.

 **Courf:** Enjolras????

Grantaire frowns.

 **Me:** no this is R?????

The next response is even more confusing.

 **Courf:** Hahaha no I know I mean what about Enjolras as a date???

 **Me:** ok funny but this is literally about me getting over enjolras don’t even start w me courf. who else??

 **Courf:** Okay I know this guy called Étienne he’s really great you’d definitely like him.

Grantaire sighs.

 **Me:** go for it.

They spend the rest of the train journey staring out the window at the city lights and desperately try not to think about Enjolras.

-

The first thing Enjolras does when he wakes up is turn on his phone and text Combeferre.

 **Me:** Sorry. That wasn’t nice of me. Please, don’t ask.

 **Ferre:** It’s okay. I’m here to listen and talk if you need me.

The problem is, it’s really not okay.

-

“Hi,” Grantaire says, with a smile, offering their hand to Étienne to shake, “I’m Grantaire.”

The man grins and shakes their hand firmly. “Étienne,” he replies.

“It’s really nice to meet you,” Grantaire continues, sliding into the booth in the Corinthe, across from Étienne. They pull off their jacket and put it down on the seat next to them.

“Yeah, you too. How do you know Courfeyrac?” Étienne asks them.

“Oh, I’ve known him since high school – childhood friends and all that – hell we did everything together,” Grantaire says, with a smile, and Étienne smiles too, leaning in. “We even came out together, which was one hell of a ride. I mean, I did that twice, but whatever.”

Étienne frowns a little. “Twice? Like, to different people?”

Grantaire rubs at the back of their neck, a little uncomfortably. “N-No, I mean like, sexuality… and then gender.”

Étienne’s eyes grow wide. “So, like, you’re…” he lowers his voice, “ _trans?_ ”

Grantaire’s feeling even more uncomfortable, now, and they shift in their seat. “Uh, yeah, I guess. W-Well, I’m agender. Did Courf not… say anything to you?”

Étienne sits back in his seat, and he says, “No. He did not. So, like…” he glances downwards, and Grantaire sighs, preparing for the question that they know is coming. “What’ve you got… down _there_?”

Grantaire narrows their eyes, getting ready for an argument. “Why does that matter?”

Étienne looks even more uncomfortable than Grantaire feels at this point, and he says, “Because, like, dude- I’m _gay_. If you’ve got a vagina then we’re going to have a problem.”

Getting to their feet and grabbing their jacket, Grantaire says, “You know what, buddy? I think we’ve already got a problem. Clearly, this isn’t going to work.”

“Woah,” Étienne says, raising his hands in an action of surrender. “Dude, you need to _chill_.”

“Stop calling me _dude_ ,” Grantaire snaps.

Étienne gets to his feet, towering over Grantaire and looking incredibly pissed off, now. “Calm the fuck down, _dude_.”

Grantaire flinches away from the tall man and tries to stop their hands from shaking. Someone comes over, moving in between the two of them and Grantaire feels someone taking their arm and gently pulling them away as they shake.

They blink away the tears that are rapidly flooding their eyes, seeing Bahorel motioning at Étienne, though they can’t hear what he’s saying. Jehan’s arm is around them, and they’re saying something to them, but Grantaire doesn’t know what. They finally focus in on Jehan’s voice, listening to them say, “It’s okay, R. It’s okay. Rel’s gotten rid of him. It’s okay.”

“How much did you hear?” Grantaire asks at last, still shaking.

Jehan pulls a face. “I heard him ask what you ‘have down there’, that fucking bastard, and then I got Bahorel to intervene when things were getting worse.”

Grantaire nods, weakly. “I don’t think he was going to hurt me.”

“Well,” Jehan says, “I wasn’t prepared to take that risk. What were you doing with someone like that, anyway?”

“Blind date,” Grantaire says with a sigh. “Courfeyrac-”

“ _Courfeyrac_ knows that guy?” Jehan asks, voice tinged with shock.

Grantaire nods. “I assume the subject of gender-queer people has never come up between them.”

“Come on,” Jehan says, putting on of their arms around Grantaire’s waist and helping them to their feet. “Let’s go see Courfeyrac. I think he’d want to know so he can delete that guy from his life.”

Grantaire shakes their head. “I don’t- I don’t want you all making a fuss about it. It’s fine. Happens all the time.”

Jehan gives them a flat look. “Believe me, I know how often it happens. But Courfeyrac is not keeping that guy in his life. End of discussion. Let’s go.”

-

Enjolras is _trying_ to get work done, but it’s impossible when he knows that Grantaire is on _another_ date. He knows this because Courfeyrac was buzzing about this one – utterly convinced that Grantaire and this Étienne will hit it off.

Enjolras feels terrible for hoping that it goes badly, but hey, he hopes it goes badly.

Combeferre clicks in front of his face. “You paying attention?” he asks.

Enjolras blinks. “Yeah- yeah. Sorry, just thinking.” He smiles. “Sorry.”

A sharp knock at the door makes both of their heads jerk in that direction, and Combeferre shouts, “It’s open!”

The door swings open, and in comes Jehan and Bahorel, who both have their arms around Grantaire, who is looking very pale and shaken.

Enjolras is on his feet in a flash. “Oh my God, are you okay? What happened?” he asks, taking a half-step in their direction. Combeferre, meanwhile, quickly pushes all of his and Enjolras’ things off the sofa, making room.

Grantaire sits down heavily, and grits their teeth together. “Really,” they say, “it’s nothing. I’m fine.”

Jehan pulls a face. “Is Courfeyrac here? I’d like a word with him.”

“Uh, yeah,” Combeferre says. “He’s in his room. Courfeyrac!” he yells.

The man in question appears in the doorway, and immediately goes pale when he sees Grantaire. “Oh my God,” he says. Quickly crossing the room, Courfeyrac goes to sit by Grantaire, grabbing their hand. “What happened? Was it… Did Étienne do this?”

Grantaire tugs their hand away. “It’s nothing. It’s fine.”

Jehan disagrees clearly, and Enjolras can’t tear his eyes away from Grantaire as Jehan says, “Your _friend_ had a few choice things to say about Grantaire’s gender identity.”

Courfeyrac’s eyes widen in shock. “Oh- Grantaire, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know- I didn’t _know_.”

“It’s not your fault,” Grantaire mumbles, twisting their hands together and staring down at their lap.

“Oh, it _is_ , I’m so sorry. I set you up with this guy. I thought you’d _like_ each other.” Courfeyrac sounds downright miserable.

Grantaire sniffs, and Enjolras doesn’t know what to _do_. He feels utterly useless. He just stares at Grantaire.

“Look,” Courfeyrac says, “I’ll message Étienne and tell him to stay the hell away from me and my friends, yeah? And- and we’ll stop setting you up with people, alright?”

“No,” Grantaire says. “I mean, yeah, tell that _dick_ to stay the fuck away from humanity in general, but don’t stop the dating thing. I mean, someone’s gotta work out, right?”

Enjolras feels his heart sink, and he finally looks away.

“They can’t all be like _Étienne_ ,” Grantaire says.

 _I’m not like him_ , Enjolras wants to say. _I’d never hurt you like this_.

He doesn’t say anything except for, “I’m going to make coffee, would anyone like some?” before quickly fleeing to the kitchen.

-

So Adrienne didn’t work out. And Étienne didn’t work out. And… neither did Gabriel or Henri, Isabelle or Josette. Even so, Grantaire refuses to give up.

And then… they find someone who _works_.

Her name is Victoire and she’s _wonderful_.

The second Grantaire sits down she looks at them with a very no nonsense attitude about her and she says, “My name’s Victoire, I am a _woman_ and use she/her pronouns. Don’t ask me what’s going on _down there_ , it’s ignorant and offensive. If you feel uncomfortable at all, leave now.”

Grantaire raises one eyebrow, slowly. Maybe they should start giving speeches like that on dates. They decide to start now. “My name’s Grantaire,” they say. “I’m agender and I use they/them pronouns. I won’t ask you what you’ve got _down there_ if you return the favour. No, I’m not a robot. If I’m wearing trousers, that does not make me a man, and if I’m wearing a skirt or a dress, that does not make me a woman.” They smile across the table at Victoire. “It’s nice to meet you.”

She grins.

The date goes brilliantly, and it’s not like Grantaire’s never felt a connection with cisgendered people before, but Victoire _gets it_. She’s hilarious, and when she tells them about the time some cisgendered man tried to pick her up, misgendering her and assuming she was a man, and re-enacts his confused expression when she told him that she was a woman, she actually makes Grantaire inhale their drink.

Choking, they try to control their breathing, and she grins at them. She’s goddamn beautiful.

At the end of their meal, she says, “You know, I’m pretty sure the man’s supposed to pay on the first date… but neither of us are men.”

They grin.

At the same time they exclaim, “Free dinner!” and burst into laughter again.

They end up splitting the bill. As they pull on their coats, Victoire says, “I really did enjoy this, Grantaire. When Courfeyrac sets me up on dates usually they don’t go very well. It’s somewhere between the getting to the bedroom and the discovering I have a dick that things fall apart.”

Grantaire nods in understanding. “Believe me I get it. I’m glad you came, though. I’d very much like to do this again.”

Victoire smiles at them. “So would I.”

-

Ever since Grantaire started dating Victoire, Enjolras has been trying to make himself be happy for them. He’s finding it very difficult. Especially now when Grantaire’s whispering something in Victoire’s ear, making her laugh too loudly, right in the middle of the meeting.

He can’t take it any longer.

“Do you have something to say, Grantaire?” Enjolras asks, loudly.

Grantaire looks over at him, seemingly surprised. Then they smirk. “Nothing you’d want to hear,” they say, and the way Victoire blushes and hides her face in her hands says it all really.

Enjolras stiffens and grits his teeth together. “You know, Grantaire,” he says, looking directly at Grantaire, “ _some of us_ are trying to get something productive and useful done here. If all you’re interested in is fucking your girlfriend, I think you should leave.”

Grantaire visibly tenses, and Victoire whispers something to them that makes them grin. “I guess we’ll be going, then,” Grantaire says.

The couple get to their feet, Grantaire’s arm tight around Victoire’s waist. Enjolras glares at them as they walk past him on their way out, and he flushes indignantly when Grantaire winks at him.

Then they’re gone and Enjolras deflates, sinking into his chair and burying his face in his hands. He can’t breathe.

“Holy shit,” someone says.

He was too obvious.

Someone else asks, in a voice that was clearly meant to be a whisper, “How long has Enjolras been in love with Grantaire? When did that happen?”

Enjolras desperately tries to ignore them. He swallows and then looks up at Combeferre, who’s looking at him with sympathy.

“Meeting’s over,” Combeferre says, not taking his eyes off Enjolras. He moves to sit down next to Enjolras, and takes hold of his hand. “Do you want to go home?” he asks, quietly.

Enjolras nods. As the two of them get to their feet, Courfeyrac comes bundling over. “Enjolras, I’m so sorry- I didn’t realise.” He looks so guilty, and Enjolras sighs. “I mean, I should have,” Courfeyrac says. “When R went on that first date, and you looked really sad, but then you didn’t react to any of the others – except Étienne, the bastard – and you said you were _fine_ , and I believed you, and I kept setting R up with people and-”

“Courf,” Enjolras interrupts, holding one hand up to silence his best friend. “I love you, and I know you mean well, but I need you to stop talking right now.”

Courfeyrac looks _heartbroken_.

“Grantaire is _happy_ with Victoire,” Enjolras continues, “and I’m glad for that. Thank you for finding someone who makes them smile. In time, I’m going to be able to appreciate that, but right now, I want to go home.”

Courfeyrac nods, looking miserable. “Do you want me and Ferre to come?”

Enjolras thinks about it, and nods.

Courfeyrac wraps his arms around Enjolras tightly.

The three of them make their way out of the building and head straight for Enjolras’ apartment.

-

Grantaire grins, pressing a kiss to Victoire’s temple as they walk down the street. She looks at them with a brilliant smile.

The warm Saturday afternoon sun shines down on them as they meander down the street, her arm around their waist, their arm around her shoulders.

It’s been over three months now, since they started dating Victoire, and honestly? They’ve never been this happy.

“You’re in a good mood,” Victoire comments, as Grantaire pulls her into a little café.

“I am,” Grantaire says, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

Grantaire claims a table, taking Victoire’s coat to put on a chair for her, while Victoire goes to order them both a drink. They’ve picked up a pattern ever since Victoire noticed that Grantaire only ever buys black coffee when he goes out. Grantaire will sit down and Victoire will chose something different for them both to try.

Re-joining them, she pushes the mug of tea across the table, smiling at them, and they smile back.

“I’m curious, where did you get the name Victoire from?” Grantaire asks, curiously, mouth poised at the rim of their mug from which they now takes a sip of the herbal tea that Victoire loves so much.

“Oh, well, I used to be called Victor, and really, it wasn’t that much of a leap,” Victoire says, with a bit of a laugh. “I didn’t really mind the name Victor, truth be told, but if you have a traditionally feminine name, people are more likely to call you ‘she’. What about you? Were you always ‘Grantaire’?”

“Ha, no. My first name is Jean-Luc. It’s still my first name, legally; I just don’t use it anymore. I suppose it’s kind of different for us, but I don’t know… It was too masculine, y’know? Like, I’m all for saying, ‘fuck off to gender norms’, and all that, but the name was just a reminder that my parents still call me ‘boy’.”

She nods, sympathetically. “I got lucky. My mum’s pretty chill about the whole thing. My dad, not so much.” Grantaire grimaces, and Victoire laughs, softly. “Don’t worry; I don’t need him,” she says, firmly.

“Damn right,” Grantaire says. Then they say, “I’m really glad I met you, Victoire.”

She beams at them. “I’m glad I met you, too. You know what we should do?” she asks, eyes sparkling.

“What?” Grantaire replies, with a laugh.

“We should set Courfeyrac up with someone.”

“Why?” Grantaire asks, incredulously.

“Because he got _us_ together, it seems fair,” she answers, shrugging. “Then again I’m not that good at matchmaking.”

“Me either,” Grantaire says, smiling. “Gift basket?”

“Gift basket,” she agrees, solemnly.

Sitting in the café, grinning at each other uncontrollably over two mugs over tea, Grantaire realises they like her _so much_.

-

“Don’t move,” Grantaire murmurs.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Victoire replies, watching them with dark, curious eyes.

“I’m going to draw you,” they inform her.

She’s laying in their bed, totally naked, the sheets pooling around her waist, and she looks stunning. Grantaire’s eyes trail over her, completely in awe of the woman before them.

“Fuck it,” they then say. “You deserve to be _painted_.”

-

Enjolras glares up at the ceiling. He’s just got home from a meeting, and he can’t stop replaying the way Grantaire looks at Victoire over and over in his head.

They’d been telling Joly and Bossuet about their art exhibition, and when Bahorel and Feuilly had gotten interested, Grantaire had opened the conversation to everyone. They’d proudly informed everyone about the exhibition and invited them all along. Enjolras was smiling at that point, but then Grantaire nudged Victoire with their elbow and said, “There are some of this lovely lady on display,” winking.

Enjolras felt his blood run cold, and he’d quickly looked back down at his work as the sound of Victoire’s laughter filled the room.

“Oh, yes,” she says, “if you’ve ever wondered what’s underneath these clothes, then you should _definitely_ come along.”

Now Enjolras lies on the sofa, and he can’t think of a single way to get out of going. Sure, Courfeyrac and Combeferre would probably lie for him, but Enjolras can’t help but feel that Grantaire would _know_ that he’s not actually busy. It wouldn’t feel right not to go. He _always_ goes.

Now shouldn’t be any different.

But it is. It is! There’s nothing Enjolras can do about it, but it is different.

He’ll have to go.

-

The day of the exhibition, Enjolras forces himself through the day, smiling almost constantly – so much so that he feels exhausted by the time it’s actually time to go.

It’s fine. At first.

He shows up, between Combeferre and Courfeyrac. He greets Grantaire. Smiles. Shakes their hand. Congratulates them. He greets Victoire. He then excuses himself and wanders away to get a drink and look at the artwork.

Then it goes wrong.

He’s standing in front of one of the paintings of Victoire – thankfully fully dressed in this one – when Grantaire and the woman herself join him. They don’t pay him any mind; they’re clearly just looking at the paintings for themselves.

But their close proximity means that Enjolras can hear what they say.

Grantaire wraps an arm around Victoire’s waist and says, looking at her like she’s _everything_ , “You’re so beautiful.”

Enjolras can’t do this. He just can’t.

He turns on his heel, pushing through the people in the room, heading straight for the door. Courfeyrac tries to catch his arm, a half-asked, “Are you alright?” in Enjolras’ ears, but Enjolras just shakes him off and keeps moving.

He’s out on the street, and breathing heavily, when someone says his name.

“Enjolras, where are you going?” Grantaire calls out from behind him, and Enjolras freezes, determinedly blinking away the tears.

“I’m- Um- I’m going home,” Enjolras says, turning round to look at them, awkwardly. “Sorry, I probably should have said goodbye or something.”

Grantaire just looks even more confused at that – and a little hurt too, it seems, because, obviously, one of their friends is leaving very early in their exhibition. “But- Uh- Why are you leaving?”

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras says again, trying to find the words to excuse this. “Your exhibition’s really good. I swear it’s not cause I’m bored or anything, I just-”

“-have too much to be doing to hang around here,” Grantaire interrupts. “No, I get it. It’s cool.”

It’s clearly not. “No!” Enjolras exclaims. “No, that’s not it. I swear it’s not. Look. Um. Okay, I just can’t do this tonight,” he says in a rush.

“Um, why not?” Grantaire asks, a twist to their mouth.

Enjolras looks at them and it’s agony. “It’s just… It _hurts_ too much, okay?” he says. “Shit. Okay. Look, I’ll be okay tomorrow, I just- Shit.”

Grantaire frowns at him, taking a step forwards. Enjolras takes a step backwards.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire says, “I don’t… What are you talking about?”

“It’s too painful, because- because-” He breaks off. “Fuck, because I’m in love with you, and you’re here with Victoire and you’re really _happy_ with her, and, fuck, I’m happy for you, really, I am, and it’s going to be okay, but I can’t do this right now, and I’m sorry. For- for everything.”

His heart is hammering inside his chest so loudly that surely Grantaire can hear it in the silence that falls between them. He said it. He said it and there’s nothing he can do about it.

Grantaire’s staring at him as if they’ve never seen him before.

“You-” they half-say, seemingly unable to form a full sentence. Enjolras doesn’t blame them. Who expects a friend to suddenly and dramatically declare their love for them? “You’re in love with me?” Grantaire asks, their voice a hushed whisper.

“ _Shit_ ,” Enjolras says with feeling. “Yes. Yes, I am. And I’m really sorry about that.”

There’s a long moment of silence, and Enjolras can feel the tears pricking at his eyes again, stinging.

“So,” he says, at last. “So, I’m going to go home, and tomorrow we can pretend this never happened, alright?”

Grantaire still doesn’t say anything, just continues to start at Enjolras, shock written all over their face. They nod.

Enjolras turns around and walks away.

Grantaire doesn’t follow him.

-

Grantaire stands in the street for a long time, heart hammering in their chest. Enjolras is in love with them. Enjolras loves them. It’s not guilt or a pity thing – it could only be that if Enjolras knew Grantaire’s own feelings _which he clearly doesn’t_ – Enjolras is genuinely in love with them.

And Grantaire doesn’t know what to do with that, because, as Enjolras said, they’re with Victoire. They’re _happy_ with Victoire.

But Enjolras is in love with them.

They startle when they hear Jehan’s voice calling their name, coming over to them in the middle of the street. “What are you doing out here? Victoire’s looking for you.”

Grantaire looks over at them and it must be clear on their face that something is wrong. Jehan lets out a soft, “Oh,” and immediately wraps their arms around them. “What happened?”

Grantaire feels utterly lost as they say, “Enjolras is in love with me.”

They hear Jehan breath in sharply. “He told you that?”

“Just now,” Grantaire confirms. They feel sick.

“Wow,” Jehan says. “I didn’t- I didn’t think he’d tell you.”

Grantaire looks at them. “You _knew_?”

Jehan looks a little embarrassed, and they nod.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Grantaire demands, feeling betrayed. “You all know how I feel- felt…”

“We didn’t know until after you got together with Victoire,” Jehan promises. “No one wanted to ruin what the two of you have – you’re _happy_ now, Grantaire.”

Grantaire just stares down at the floor, blinking. “But he loves me,” they say, softly. “What am I supposed to do with that?”

Jehan looks at them with pity. “I can’t tell you what you’re supposed to do, but I can tell you what I think you should do. You should go back inside and find your girlfriend. Have a nice evening, because you’ve worked so hard for this.” They shrug. “Then I guess you’ve got to figure out what you want. Victoire makes you happy, Grantaire. She’s so good for you. But yes, I know how you feel or felt for Enjolras. You can talk to any of us, please remember that.”

Grantaire just nods. “I’m- I’m gonna go find Victoire.”

Jehan nods and lets them go.

Victoire comes up to them as soon as they’re inside, wrapping her arms around them, beaming. “I thought you’d run off, where did you go?” she asks, sounding happy and calm.

Grantaire shakes their head. “I’ll tell you later?”

She frowns, clearly seeing that something’s wrong, but all she says is, “Okay,” and gives them a kiss on the cheek.

Grantaire pulls away from her, telling her they’ll be back in a minute, before they head over to where Combeferre and Courfeyrac are chatting. “You should probably go find Enjolras,” they say. “I think he went home but I- I think he might need you.”

They can hardly look at Courfeyrac right now.

“He told you?” Combeferre asks, quietly.

Grantaire nods. “Yeah,” they say. “Uh. Can you tell him that I’m sorry? And- And that I’m not mad or anything? He just- He seemed really upset, and I don’t want him to think-”

“Of course,” Combeferre says, and then suddenly pulls them into a hug. “Don’t blame yourself, though. Enjoy your night. You deserve it.”

Grantaire just nods, when Combeferre releases them. Courfeyrac clasps their arm, but doesn’t seem to know what to say – instead just smiling sympathetically, more of a grimace, in all honesty, and then following Combeferre out the door.

Grantaire heads back to Victoire, who’s talking with Bahorel, smiling brightly. They wrap their arm around her, and don’t let go for the rest of the night.

-

As soon as Grantaire walks into the bar, the next time they’re all there, Enjolras notices. He desperately tries not to look at them, and he ignores the twisted feeling in his stomach. Knowing that Grantaire knows is making him self-conscious.

He keeps his eyes down, even when Grantaire walks directly up to him and says, “We need to talk.”

Enjolras stares at his hands. “We really don’t,” he replies. “I’m- I’m sorry about what happened, but we really don’t need to talk about it.”

Grantaire laughs, softly, and Enjolras knows his heart is breaking. “We really do, Enjolras.”

Enjolras looks up at them sharply, getting to his feet, using his height to try and make Grantaire feel small. It’s petty, but he thinks it will work. “No,” he growls. “We don’t. I don’t want to talk about it, Grantaire. I don’t _need_ your sympathy, or- whatever you’re going to say, I don’t need it. I don’t need to be let down gently, I don’t need some sort of ‘we can still be friends’ speech, I don’t _need it_.”

Grantaire blinks and Enjolras shoves past them, heading straight for the door because fuck this.

“Enjolras!” Grantaire yells after him, but he keeps walking. He can’t deal with this.

-

So, talking to Enjolras didn’t really go to plan, and Grantaire winds up on Victoire’s doorstep. She lets them in without question, of course, babbling away about a TV show she started, offering them a drink, and Grantaire feels a little overwhelmed.

It probably wasn’t their best move, but they end up blurting out, over the top of Victoire’s voice, “Enjolras is in love with me.”

Victoire freezes. She looks at them for a long moment. Then she says, “You didn’t know?”

“You _did_?”

She shrugs. “I just… kinda thought it was something we were politely ignoring.”

This conversation isn’t helping at all. “Maybe everyone else was,” Grantaire says, “but I didn’t know at all.”

She just continues to look at them. “Do you love him?” she asks, slowly.

“Don’t ask me that,” Grantaire replies, tiredly. They sink down onto Victoire’s sofa, pinching the bridge of their nose.

“It’s a simple question, Grantaire,” she says.

“No, it’s really not,” Grantaire says.

“Yes it is!” she insists, voice raising, and Grantaire looks over at her. “Either you love him or you don’t, Grantaire.”

“I don’t know, Victoire!” Grantaire shouts back at her. “I don’t! It’s so much more complicated than you think, okay? I loved him for years. _Years_!And then I met _you_ and you make me so happy and, Goddamnit, Victoire, I don’t _know_!”

“Do you love me?”

Grantaire sighs, getting to their feet. They reach out for her. “Victoire…”

“ _Do you love me_?” she asks, pulling away from them.

“I don’t know- Maybe.”

“Maybe,” she echoes.

“Well, do you love me?” they demand, angrily.

“Yes!” she exclaims.

“Oh,” Grantaire says.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “ _Oh._ ”

They try to take a step towards her, but she pushes them back, lightly. “Just- Just get out of my house, Grantaire,” she says, and she sounds exhausted.

“Victoire…”

“Leave!” she says.

They leave.

-

“I’ve ruined everything,” Grantaire says, later that night.

Bahorel gives them a sympathetic pat on the back. “You’ve still got me, kid,” he says, and Grantaire almost manages a smile.

“They’re both in love with me, and I don’t know what to do,” Grantaire sighs. “How do I have _two people_ in love with me? What am I? A fucking Jane Austin character?”

Bahorel laughs at that. “You’re a catch, R,” he says.

Grantaire can’t even smile. “I hate my life.”

“Talk to Victoire,” Bahorel tells them.

“I don’t want to. She hates me.”

“She doesn’t _hate_ you,” Bahorel says with a groan. “She _loves_ you. That’s your whole issue, remember?”

“Bahorel, I don’t know what to do,” Grantaire says, and something in their tone must tell Bahorel that it’s time to be serious. He sits up straight and puts on his best listening face. “I’ve loved Enjolras for so long, but Victoire is so wonderful. It’s- It’s complete bullshit.”

Bahorel goes for a smile. “Either way you get someone wonderful,” he offers.

Grantaire glares at him. “Yeah, and I either feel shitty for dumping Victoire for Enjolras, or I feel like crap for knowing that Enjolras is in love with me and not doing anything about it.” They sigh. “I don’t want either of them to hurt.”

“I know,” Bahorel says, softly. “I know.”

-

Enjolras’ phone starts ringing

“Grantaire?” Enjolras says, when he picks up, feeling horrendously nervous.

“Heeyyy,” Grantaire’s voice responds. “I didn’t ex _sh_ pect you to pick up.”

“Oh, God, you’re drunk,” Enjolras says, realising. “Christ.”

Grantaire giggles on the other end of the line. “I called _you_ ,” they say, like it’s some big thing. “I thought I would call Victoire, but I called _you_.”

Enjolras doesn’t know what to say to that. “R,” he settles on. He clears his throat. “R, you’re with Victoire.”

“Am I?” Grantaire asks. They hum, as if thinking. “See, I told her that you love me, and she asked if I love _you_ and then we started yelling.” There’s a long pause, and more humming. “I think she hates me. Except she said she _loves_ me. How are there _two people_ in love with me? That’s weird.”

Enjolras couldn’t agree more, in this moment. “Grantaire, where are you?”

It takes Grantaire a long time to answer, during which Enjolras feels gradually more nervous that Grantaire’s going to get themself into trouble. “A bar?” they say, and it sounds like a guess.

“Do you know what it’s called?” Enjolras asks, patiently.

There’s more humming as Grantaire thinks, and then Enjolras hears them yell, “What bar is this?” There’s the sound of laughter and then a non-distinct reply. Grantaire giggles. “The Bonnie and Clyde,” they announce.

Enjolras raises one eyebrow. “Alright. Can you do me a favour and stay there?”

“For you,” Grantaire says, grandiosely, “anything.”

Enjolras swallows and hangs up the phone. He takes a deep steadying breath and flicks through his contacts to find another number – one that he’s never used before.

 “Hey, Victoire,” Enjolras says, tiredly.

“Hey, Enjolras,” she replies. “What can I do for you?” She sounds surprised that he’s calling.

“Do you- Do you love them?” he asks.

She takes a long moment to reply, but she says, “Yes,” when she does.

“I thought so,” Enjolras says. “They’re at a bar called The Bonnie and Clyde.”

“How- Are they- I mean-”

“They seem fine, just totally plastered. Go get them.”

She says, “Why? Why call me? Go get them yourself. Be their knight in shining armour and sweep them off their feet.”

“They love you,” Enjolras says. “You’re good for them. You make them happy.”

She sighs, sadly. “Oh, _Enjolras_ ,” she says. “What are we going to do?”

Enjolras shrugs even though she can’t see him. “You’re going to go pick R up from that bar and make sure they don’t drink themself to death, and then you’ll take them back to your place, tell them that you love them, and you’ll both live happily ever after.”

“They know I love them,” Victoire says. “They know, and they don’t return the sentiment.”

“They’re just confused. Two people confessing their love for them? That’s gotta be a little overwhelming, especially for R. But, trust me, you’re right for them.”

“Why do you have to be so selfless?” Victoire asks him. “Look, we’ll both go to the bar and get them. It just makes sense.”

“It really doesn’t. You’re their girlfriend. I’m nobody.”

“You’re the guy they were in love with for years.”

“I’m _what_?”

“You heard me.”

“Yeah. I guess I’ll see you at the bar, then?”

“See you at the bar,” Victoire says, and then Enjolras hangs up.

-

Grantaire downs another shot. There’s a woman sitting beside them, smiling prettily. She’s clearly in the bar for one thing and one thing only. Grantaire smiles at her, waves a hand for two more shots, and pushes one in her direction.

“Thank you,” she says, primly. Then she knocks the shot back. Grantaire smiles in approval. “You single?” she asks them.

Grantaire hums. “Well, I have a Victoire, and I have an Enjolras, but I’m not really sure if I actually have either of them.” They tilt their head on its side, looking at the woman. “You can do better,” they tell her.

She laughs. “Well, we’ll see. I hope you work out things with your Victoire or your Enjolras.”

“Me too, sugar,” Grantaire says, their words slurring. “Me too.”

She gives them a concerned look. “You’re looking a bit worse for wear,” she says, sliding onto the stool next to them, placing her hand on their forearm. “Is there anything I can do?”

A voice behind them growls, “No,” and Grantaire closes their eyes, letting their head fall onto the table, because they know that voice. They feel the woman move her hand away.

“I assume you’re Enjolras and Victoire?” she asks, and Grantaire feels sick.

“You assume correctly,” Victoire says, coolly.

“Calm,” the woman says to her. “I was just making sure he was okay – he seems a bit drunk.”

No one bothers to correct her use of pronouns. Enjolras and Victoire are immediately by their side. “You alright, love?” Victoire asks, and Grantaire feels Enjolras go tense. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

They help them to their feet. Grantaire has one arm around Victoire’s waist, and the other around Enjolras’. As they walk to the exit, Grantaire blinks blearily, looking between the two. “I don’t deserve you,” they say, not knowing which they are talking to. Both, probably.

Neither one of them reply at any rate.

-

Once Grantaire is sitting on their sofa, Enjolras feels exhausted. “I don’t know what to do,” he tells Victoire.

She shakes her head. “Me either.” Then she looks at him. “I suppose it’s up to them, really.”

“Yeah,” Enjolras agrees, quietly.

“I don’t want to choose,” Grantaire tells them, and then they slouch over on the sofa, curling up and hiding their face in their arms.

Enjolras drops to his knees beside the sofa and gently brushes Grantaire’s hair out of their eyes with his fingers. “I know, R,” he says, quietly. “Get some sleep, yeah? We’ll all talk in the morning.”

Grantaire looks at him for a really long moment. “I love you,” they say, and then the tears start pouring.

Enjolras can feel a lump in his throat. His voice is hoarse when he says, “I never should have told you. I’ve ruined everything.”

Grantaire sniffles on the sofa, lower lip trembling.

“You didn’t know,” Victoire says. “You didn’t know they loved you – you just wanted to say it at least once. It’s not your fault.”

“It sure as hell feels like it is,” Enjolras tells her.

“It’s not,” Grantaire insists. “I’m too drunk for this fucking conversation.”

Enjolras and Victoire both smile at that. “We’ll postpone it, then,” Victoire says. “Let’s get you into bed.” She helps Grantaire to their feet, even as they attempt to bat her hands away, complaining about being treated like an old person.

Enjolras stays where he is as Victoire takes Grantaire out of the room. He’s at a loss.

Forcing himself into action, he goes quickly into the kitchen and pours a glass of water, and then follows Victoire and Grantaire. Reaching the bedroom, he finds Grantaire lying on the bed, Victoire sitting next to them, petting their hair.

“I love you,” she says. “Whatever you decide, R, remember that we both love you.”

Enjolras doesn’t announce his presence, just watches as she slides down to lie beside Grantaire. They stare into each other’s eyes.

“Sweetheart, if you choose him, that’s okay. I’ll be upset, but as long as you’re happy, it’ll be okay. Just promise me that we can stay friends.”

Grantaire pulls her in and presses a messy kiss on her lips. “Love you, too, ‘toire. You’re fucking wonderful.” They then curl around her, and Enjolras can hear the hitches in their breath from crying.

Enjolras sets the glass down on the floor and leaves.

-

Combeferre’s lying in bed reading when his phone starts to ring. Next to him, Courfeyrac sighs.

“Bet it’s Enjolras,” he says. Combeferre grins and picks up his phone.

“Yep,” he says, and then hits the green button. “What’s up, Enj?” He startles at the sound of his best friend crying on the other end of the line. He sits up straight. “Enjolras? Enjolras, what’s wrong?”

“Everything,” Enjolras replies, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve ruined everything.”

Combeferre darts a look at Courfeyrac, whose face is filled with concern. Combeferre quickly puts him on speaker. “You’re on speaker with Courfeyrac and I. Tell us what happened.”

“I- I told Grantaire- I told Grantaire I love them, and then they went and told Victoire. Obviously. And- And she told them that she loves them, and they didn’t say it back, and they had a fight, and then Grantaire went out and got really drunk so I called Victoire and told her to go get them, and she told me that we both should go, so we did. And we took them back to their place and they told me they love me, and Victoire took them to bed, and I heard them tell her that they love her too, and I don’t know what I’m doing – I don’t-”

“Enjolras, breathe,” Combeferre says, gently. “Where are you?”

The sound of Enjolras breathing heavily echoes through the phone. “I- I’m outside Grantaire’s apartment block.”

“Come over,” Courfeyrac says, immediately. “Do you have money for a bus or a taxi?”

“No,” Enjolras says.

“Alright,” Combeferre says. “Stay there, I’ll come and get you.”

There’s a long pause, and then Enjolras whispers, “Thank you.”

Just as Combeferre’s about to tell him to stay on the line, Enjolras hangs up. Combeferre sighs down at his phone, and then says to Courfeyrac, “I’ll be back soon.”

Courfeyrac looks at him. “Obviously I’m coming too, you twat.”

“Right,” Combeferre says.

They find Enjolras exactly where he’d said he was, and Combeferre feels his heart break for his best friend. Courfeyrac puts an arm around Enjolras and helps him to his feet, coaxing him towards the car.

“C’mon, Enj,” Courfeyrac says.

Once they’re all sitting in the car, and Combeferre has pulled out onto the road, Grantaire’s apartment block swallowed by the darkness, Enjolras says, “Thank you for coming to get me.” His voice sounds small.

Combeferre nods, tightly. “It’s quite alright, Enj. You’d do the same for us.”

Enjolras nods, and leans against the car door, staring out the window.

Back at the flat, Combeferre goes to make them all a cup of tea, and then all three of them pile into Courfeyrac and Combeferre’s bed. Enjolras sits between his two best friends and feels a sob building in his throat.

“I don’t know what to do,” he confesses. “I’ve- I’ve ruined everything. I’ve come between Grantaire and Victoire, and I didn’t mean to do that, they’re so good for each other, and now I’ve gone and fucked it all up.”

Courfeyrac rests his head on Enjolras’ shoulder. He doesn’t have anything to say. Combeferre breathes out, a long exhale of air, and then takes a sip of his tea.

“Drink up,” he says, at last, “and let’s all get some sleep. We can talk about it in the morning.”

Enjolras nods, and immediately hands over his still mostly full mug of tea. Combeferre takes it and puts it on his bedside table. Enjolras curls up in the sheets and squeezes his eyes shut tight.

Courfeyrac and Combeferre share a long look over him, and then follow suit, Combeferre turning off the lamp and laying down too.

Courfeyrac and Combeferre curl around Enjolras, resting their hands on him as a reassurance.

“It’s going to be okay,” Courfeyrac attempts to assure Enjolras.

“How?” Enjolras whines.

Courfeyrac sighs and shakes his head slightly. “It just is.”

-

Enjolras wakes up the next morning, sandwiched between his two friends. His jeans are uncomfortable against his skin, and his hair is sticking to the back of his neck. He slips out of bed and heads off for a shower.

When he comes out from underneath the hot water, he has a text from Grantaire. It reads: _Come round we need to talk_. Enjolras stares at it for a long moment. He replies: _What time?_. Grantaire answers: _As soon as possible, really_. Enjolras nods to himself and puts his phone back on top of his jeans as he towels off.

Combeferre and Courfeyrac are sitting in the kitchen when he comes through, nursing mugs of hot coffee. He steals a gulp from each of them.

“I’m going to Grantaire’s,” he tells them.

Combeferre regards him with a steady gaze. Courfeyrac asks, “Is that a good idea?”

“I don’t know,” Enjolras says, honestly. “Grantaire asked me to come, though. If I’m not back by dinner, it might be best that you come and find me, unless I’ve called to tell you I’m fine.”

Combeferre nods. “Well,” he says, “you know to call if you need us.”

“I do,” Enjolras says, seriously.

He sets off for Grantaire’s flat with nerves growing steadily in his stomach.

-

Grantaire and Victoire sit in silence on the sofa, waiting for Enjolras. Every time one of them tries to start a conversation, it peters out awkwardly. There’s a knock at the door. Grantaire goes to let Enjolras in. They all sit down, Grantaire and Victoire on the sofa, Enjolras in an armchair.

“I think,” Grantaire says slowly, “we all need to…”

“Decide what we want,” Victoire finishes, with a glance at Grantaire. She doesn’t look like she slept much last night.

Enjolras nods. “That sounds like a good idea. Shall I start?”

Grantaire and Victoire fix their gazes on him. “If you’d like,” Grantaire says.

“What I want is to stop feeling so guilty that I fucked up your relationship,” Enjolras says, looking directly at Grantaire. “I want to be able to go back in time and stop myself from admitting to my feelings. Truthfully, if time travel is allowed, I’d like to go back and ask you out _before_ you started dating Victoire.”

Well, he figures there’s no point in being shy about emotions at this point.

Grantaire nods and looks down at his hands, which twist together anxiously.

“Victoire?” Enjolras asks. “What do you want?”

Victoire shrugs. “I want my partner to love me-”

“I do,” Grantaire interrupts, quietly, still not looking at either of them.

“-and _only_ love me,” she continues, as though they hadn’t spoken. “And I want you,” she looks at Enjolras, seriously, “to stop with the self-pitying thing. It’s not your fault.”

Enjolras just about manages a smile at that. “I’ll work on that,” he allows.

She smiles back at him.

“Grantaire?” Enjolras asks. “Really, it all rides on what you want.”

“I don’t know!” Grantaire suddenly exclaims, sounding frustrated. They get to their feet and pace away from the other two, going to stand by the window instead. “I don’t _know_ what I want!”

“I do,” Victoire says into the silence that follows their declaration. She looks at Grantaire with a bitter smile. Grantaire turns back to look at her. They look like their heart is breaking. “Grantaire, my darling, I love you. I love you a ridiculous amount, but I think we should break up. I can’t deal with this situation, and I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about it, and I think it’s best if I left.” Her eyes don’t waver from their face. “You and Enjolras have a lot of history, and you clearly care for each other a lot. I think it’s time for me to stop being in the way of that.”

Grantaire stares at her in stunned silence. A small sound escapes from them and they take a half-step towards her. “Victoire, no-” they start, but stop.

She gives them a smile and gets to her feet to close the space between the two of them. She takes their hand in hers and presses a kiss to their knuckles. “We had fun, didn’t we, R? We had a great time together.”

“The best,” Grantaire says, staring at her, shell-shocked.

“Sometimes, even great things have to come to an end,” she says, softly. “But only to make way for things that might be even more amazing, if you just open yourself up to them.” Her eyes slide away from Grantaire’s face to make eye-contact with Enjolras for a second. Enjolras is white-faced and wide-eyed. She looks back at Grantaire. “You’re ready for that, R.”

Grantaire surges forwards and fits their mouths together, one of their hands sliding up into her hair. When they pull away, they say, “You’re fucking marvellous, ‘toire.”

She smiles, a sad, little smile, and says, “I know.”

“You gonna stay in touch?” they ask her.

She grimaces. “Not at first. I need… I need time, R.” She looks at them in a way that begs for them to understand and respect that. “But I’ll come back, one day. When we’re both well and truly done with this, and then we can be friends, yeah?”

Grantaire presses their foreheads together. “Look after yourself,” they tell her. “Stay out of trouble.”

She gasps. “I would never _dream_ of staying out of trouble, R.”

They laugh. “I know.”

The pair embraces one another tightly, Victoire’s face buried in Grantaire’s neck. “See you,” Victoire says, and she gives them a cute salute. It makes Grantaire smile. Then she turns on her heel and determinedly walks from the room.

Grantaire watches her go, and they breathe out heavily, closing their eyes for a moment. Behind them, Enjolras quietly says, “Grantaire?”

Grantaire takes another deep breathe. “Can we… not do this right now, Enjolras? I just… Give me time,” they say, and then, without turning to look at Enjolras, they head out onto the street.

-

Enjolras sits alone in Grantaire’s flat for a minute. He doesn’t really know what to do with himself. He doesn’t have a key, so he can’t lock up and leave, but he can’t leave Grantaire’s flat open, either. “Fuck,” he says.

He pulls his phone from his pocket.

Joly picks up on the third ring. “What can I do for you?” is how Joly answers.

“I’m at Grantaire’s,” Enjolras says. “They and Victoire just broke up. Neither of them are here anymore, but I can’t leave because I don’t have a key to lock up. Do you have one?”

Joly immediately says, “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Are you alright?”

“I’m… I will be,” Enjolras says.

“Okay, sit tight,” Joly instructs, and then he hangs up. Enjolras holds his phone tightly between his hands, perching on the edge of the armchair. He stares around Grantaire’s flat as he waits, but his mind can’t concentrate on anything. His mind jumps between the sadness on Grantaire’s face when Enjolras told them he loved them, the confusion and the drunken frowns when Victoire and Enjolras came to get them from the bar, and the heartbreak in Grantaire’s eyes when Victoire told them it was over.

When Joly finally arrives, Enjolras hasn’t moved. Joly stands in the doorway, looking at him for a moment, and then Enjolras gets to his feet and they crash into a hug. Enjolras lets out a choked sob, and Joly makes a shushing sound, petting his hair lightly.

“Hey,” Joly says, quietly. “Hey, it’s going to be alright.”

“I don’t know why I’m like this,” Enjolras says, into Joly’s shoulder. “I just… I feel like I’ve ruined everything, and I constantly feel like crying, because they just look so sad all the time, and I never want them to feel sad. I want them to _smile_ , because they have such a beautiful smile, and I- Joly, I don’t know what to do.”

“You’ll get there,” Joly promises him.

Joly pushes him gently in the direction of the door, and then follows him out, stopping to lock it behind him. He sends a text to Grantaire telling them what he did and to text if they don’t have their own key. Then, with a hand on Enjolras’ lower back, he guides him out of the building and into the taxi waiting outside.

Once inside, Enjolras pulls his feet up onto the chair and rests his forehead on his knees. “Joly, why does love hurt so much?”

Joly just laughs and pats him on the head.

As they’re passing the park, Enjolras lifts his head, looking out the window, and something catches his eye. “Stop the cab,” he blurts out. “Stop!”

-

Grantaire’s feeling a bit confused, actually. On one hand, they know that they should be upset that their girlfriend broke up with them, but the other hand is feeling… excited. Elated, even. Because the other hand has _Enjolras_. They’re sitting on a bench in a park, just staring at a flock of pigeons nearby, and feel utterly lost as to what to do. It feels wrong to just get over Victoire so soon, but there’s _Enjolras_.

They love Enjolras. They really do love him. But they thought they loved Victoire, too. If that wasn’t real… No. What they feel for Enjolras is real. They _know_ it’s real. It existed long before Enjolras even looked their way, and it continued on when they became friends. It’s real.

Grantaire sighs out and slouches against the bench, further. They bury their face in their hands. Shortly afterwards, someone sits down on the bench with them. They say, “Can you not sit there, please? I’m having a moment.”

A soft, familiar chuckle responds to that, followed by a familiar sigh. Then, a familiar voice: “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Grantaire doesn’t even look up. “I swear to God, if you apologise one more time I’m going to cry.”

“Please don’t.”

“I don’t _plan_ on it, I’m just saying it might happen and if it happens, it happens.”

“Grantaire, please look at me,” Enjolras says, and then Grantaire looks at him. He looks sad, and more than a little tired. He says, “Hold my hand?”

Grantaire places their hand on top of Enjolras’ and Enjolras laces their fingers together. “I love you,” Grantaire says, quietly.

Enjolras smiles. “I know,” he says. “I love you, too.” Then he says, “This is a mess.”

With a slight laugh, Grantaire looks away. “Yeah,” they say, breathing out sharply. “It really is.”

“Grantaire?” Enjolras asks, and he sounds hesitant, which is something that Grantaire’s getting alarmingly used to. Enjolras was never hesitant before all this. “You can- You can say no, but I’d- I’d rather like to kiss you.”

Grantaire’s head jerks up to look at him. “Alright,” Grantaire says.

“You sure?” Enjolras says, even as he leans in.

“I’m sure,” Grantaire whispers, and then Enjolras is kissing them, just a wonderful, press of lips, firm and yet still somehow soft, and they’re kissing, until it simply becomes sharing oxygen and being _close_.  It makes Grantaire want to cry.

“Oh,” Enjolras says, and his hand comes up to brush away the tear that’s threatening to fall off their lower eyelash. “No, don’t cry,” he says. “Oh, Grantaire.”

“Would you like to get coffee sometime?” Grantaire asks, abruptly. They feel as though they might cry any second. “Not a date, but not _not_ a date.”

Enjolras’ answering smile makes his eyes crinkle around the edges, and he looks a little beautiful. A lot beautiful. “I’d love that,” he tells Grantaire. “I really would love that.”

“Okay, good,” Grantaire replies. “And how would you feel about kissing me again?”

Enjolras smiles. “I’d love that, too,” he says.

So he does.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I hope that you enjoyed that! Thanks for reading! (If you noticed any errors please feel free to point them out to me so that I can fix them ((ESPECIALLY IF I SLIPPED UP WITH R'S GENDER)) that would be really helpful.)  
> Have a great day!  
> (Also, I'm sorry for leaving it kind of ambiguous but Grantaire's got a long way to go before they're ready to date again; it would feel wrong to me for them to move on from Victoire so quickly. I could possibly be convinced to write a sequel but it's unlikely.)
> 
> I have a writing blog: theskyis-forever come say hi and leave a prompt :)  
> Also, if you enjoyed this: [buy me a coffee?](http://ko-fi.com/A831F9U)


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